


At Seventeen

by Chellann_Nicollares



Series: I Wish You Knew [1]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Link pov, M/M, Sad Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chellann_Nicollares/pseuds/Chellann_Nicollares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stream of consciousness from the perspective of a pining Link. Inspired by the sad sad song with the same title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Seventeen

He had known that he loved him since he was seventeen.

He looked at him from the lower rock, at the pensive eyes that sparkled forest green, at the expressive brows, impossibly dark, at the sharp jawline, impossibly masculine. At the heart-shaped lips that curled beautifully when he spoke, at the minuscule mark where he could never rightfully press the tip of his tongue.

The short-cropped hair would surely prickle his palm had he run his hand against it. Had he placed his palm on the back of his head and pulled the picture-perfect face towards him, and sealed the heart-shaped lips with his own.

Had he run his hands down his thin shoulders, warming the moisture left behind by the summer swim in Cape Fear. Had he followed the curves of teenage muscles and silky skin. Had he gripped the slim waist a few inches higher than his own and pressed into the heartbeat of a wild bronco. Had he looked up through his eyelashes and parted his lips.

He never had.

He sat on the lower rock with a smile and admired the youthful beauty towering over him on a pedestal of nature. He kept his hands and his tongue to himself.

It was his place to listen and the reverberation of the eloquent baritone could go on forever. He would always listen.

They were gonna be a team, make something big.

Anything for you. We’re friends.

He shaved off his weekend stubble and rinsed the grey flecks down the drain.

 

“If you’re gonna make a blood oath, prick your finger. Why cut your frickin’ palm?”

“Well we’ve established that we were misguided.”

A dry chuckle.

He cast his eyes down on the round teak table scattered with signatures in black ink and illuminated by the dim lighting. His own voice traveled back to him through the muffling headset clenching against the sides of his glasses. His best friend’s voice traveled to him in response and his eyes were smiling a steel blue.

A needle-thin scar sat in his palm, where he had never felt the prickle of the seventeen year-old, short-cropped hair. Not quite so blond. Not yet.

Best friend. Blood brother. A beautiful, beautiful man.

 

“Well I had the time of my life, no I never felt this way before.”

He woke up under his seatbelt, in nondescript soft grey cotton, and listened to the ringing baritone.

“Never felt this way.” His duet a soaring pride. Their harmony rippled through the air and stayed behind their acceleration towards the city of angels. No backward glances. No regret. No fear. No trace left on the scorching asphalt.

Sometimes love don’t feel like it should.

Two honks into the sunlight speeding past.

You make it hurt so good.

 

“I do”. He said to a statuesque blond with the most properly sweet smile. He had loved her with all his heart, enough to mark his skin with her name.

“I do.” He said to a spunky brunet with a mischievous flick in her eyebrows. He had loved her with all his heart, enough to mark his skin with her name.

He had loved him too. He had loved him longer. He had known it since he was seventeen. He had marked it with a wordless scar in his palm.

He adjusted his glasses and raked his dark fringes more neatly across his forehead. He turned to the opening car door and smiled a good morning to the daily passenger.

Best friend. Blood brother. A beautiful, beautiful man.

 

“What?” He shook in his skin on the other side of the glass. If he had brought his face closer and closer to the transparent barrier, he would forget that it was there. It would all be too real, what had never been real at seventeen. Inch after inch, closer and closer to the ridiculous eyebrows, to the strong, angular nose bridge. To the heart-shaped lips buried amidst a wild bush of antique gold.

He knew exactly where that minuscule mark was. He could pin-point it with the tip of his tongue.

It’s so thin, so flimsy, so weightless, so clear, held between their hands. But it was there.

His eyes were wide and his breath shook with nervous laughter.

He had pulled back. He didn’t want to. He pushed his lips out and left an extra pop on the Plexiglas.

If he had moved his hand, it would fall.

It’s so thin, so flimsy, so weightless, so clear, held between their hands. But it was there.

 

“I appreciate our friendship, man. I appreciate the time we’ve had together, and I wish you the best. I love you like a brother.” He said and he didn’t hear through the earplugs. “Yeah, it’s gonna be great. I’ll see you on the flipside.” And the golden strands disappeared into the sensory deprivation tank.

What did he think about for an hour? He nudged his hand-held camera into his thigh and propped his chin up with his knuckles.

Summer sunlight dancing on the river? Rivulets of red falling to the blades of grass? Sealing the rest of his life with a solemn vow? Leaving his childhood home and speeding across the country without looking back because the brunet with a matching scar in his palm had asked him to?

He emerged with moisture glistening on his tanned skin, exactly like it did at seventeen.

“I’ll see you in about an hour.”

“Ok.” Thumbs up. _I love you like a brother_ , he thought, hesitantly sliding down into the dark.

“Is it supposed to be totally dark? I mean, it is _pitch black_.” Lingering and waiting for a second at the entrance, searching through the forest twilight in the most beautiful hazel eyes.

Come into the darkness with me. Just for a moment, lock the heavy door above you and forget about the world outside. Forget about the shiny band on your finger. In the pitch-black, it doesn’t glow. Forget about who I am and who you are. Forget about where we came from and where we go from here. Hold me in the darkness and let me hold you. Listen to the ocean waves crash around us and keep your eyes open. You won’t see me but you would know. You would know that it’s me. It had always been me.

No not like a brother. No I don’t want you like a brother. No, like beauty, masculinity, baritone, eloquence, power and strength, strides so long that I can’t quite follow, and heart-shaped lips curling in the Carolinian sunlight.

Like a white hot blinding crush. Like thirty years.

Like love.

Like it was and like it had been since I was seventeen.


End file.
